


a souvenir

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fix-It, Guilt, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: No, that’s not entirely true. He’d done good things for the galaxy with the Rebellion—is still doing good things, partnering with the New Republic chief among them—things that never would have happened if his life hadn’t taken the turns it has. He just wishes, foolishly, that he could be in two places at once, be two people at the same time. The Lando who never left and the Lando who became a hero despite leaving.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themisto/gifts).



Cloud City is every bit as beautiful as Lando remembers, pristine despite its recent trials and the fact that Lando had abandoned it, his loyalties split between betrayed friends and the people he’d betrayed them for. At the time, he’d thought he was working for the good of all—going off and nabbing Han and fighting for the Rebellion would protect everyone. Win win. The perfect solution to everyone’s problems.

From a certain point of view, that might be true. The fact that he’s standing here at all, that the city remains, that almost everyone made it safely through a blockade on the whole sector—a last-ditch Imperial tantrum while Anoat suffered—supports the assertion.

From another, he knows he’s just lucky Lobot’s been here the whole time, acting as Bespin’s protector when Lando couldn’t be. Lando can’t help smiling at that, and imagines Lobot calculating his way out of losing the city, using the Empire’s own technology against it, one final bit of irony in this whole grand, galactic battle.

Would Lobot have been able to do it if his implants hadn’t—?

 _Don’t go there_ , he thinks, pushing himself to his feet as he abandon’s the _Lady Luck’s_ controls, the ship locked into place in the Baron Administrator’s— _his_ , or maybe Lobot’s, perhaps he has no right to it any longer—private hanger. A flight crew jogs toward the ship, visible outside the viewport in their pale uniforms, a couple of maintenance droids trailing after them. Nothing out of the ordinary. So apparently he’s not disallowed from this space.

A few of the crew he recognizes, and they recognize him in return, murmuring welcomes that he probably doesn’t deserve with a surprising amount of warmth for how he’d left them. “Nice to see you again, Calrissian,” one—he thinks her name is Joraa—says.

“Likewise,” Lando says, flashing a smile. “Any of you know where I might find—?”

Joraa, he’s sure now, jerks her head toward the hangar door, her dark, coiled hair swaying around her face with the quick, sharp tilt of her head. “That way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s anxious to see you.”

 _That doesn’t sound like Lobot at all_. But he can’t stop his smile from turning into a full-blown, cheek-aching grin anyway. “That so?”

“Mmm. Spent maybe half a second longer doing his calculations today,” she replies. “You must be one hell of a distraction.”

Lando laughs, charmed despite himself with the whimsy of that thought. It’s bantha poodoo, of course, but that doesn’t stop a flare of warmth from spreading through him at imagining it. It is a nice image after all. “Probably overloaded that implant of his trying to figure out how much trouble I’m likely to get him into now that I’m back,” he says, spinning on his heels so he can continue to talk to her and walk toward the hangar door.

Joraa cracks a smile and shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said.” Her spanner flashes under the bright, astringent light of the hangar as she flips it around. “Anxious.”

 _That’s not the sort of anxiety you meant_ , he thinks, pleased that someone might believe Lobot would—well, once… a long, _long_ time ago. He might have missed Lando. And would’ve been happy to see him return. Now, _still_ , Lando’s got no idea what’s going on inside Lobot’s mind. It’s been quite some time since Lando’s known what to think of Lobot.

 _Best get it over with_. Lando squares his shoulders, his cape rippling with the slight readjustment. It sits with a heavy, comforting weight against his arms, a protective talisman of sorts—in his mind if nowhere else. _Worst comes to worst, nothing’s changed at all_.

Though why it would have changed, Lando can’t even begin to say. They’ve been apart a while, sure, but what’s a day, a month, a _year_ to the guy who can talk to a city and pinpoint events to the nanosecond?

The walk across the hangar stretches and mutates, seems to take so much longer than the distance would suggest.

And yet at the end of it?

It feels like no time at all.

*

The halls are the same as he remembers, clean and bright and well-lit, the occasional handful of stairs up and down to break up the monotony. He passes no one and he wonders if it’s just luck that makes it happen. The doors slide open more smoothly than he remembers.

 _Nostalgia_ , he concludes. _Fear._

_Love._

Heart throbbing, his blood rushing in his ears, pounding against his temples, all of it enough to make him lightheaded, he wishes that things could be different, that he’d never had to leave.

No, that’s not entirely true. He’d done good things for the galaxy with the Rebellion—is still doing good things, partnering with the New Republic chief among them—things that never would have happened if his life hadn’t taken the turns it has. He just wishes, foolishly, that he could be in two places at once, be two people at the same time. The Lando who never left and the Lando who became a hero despite leaving.

What would Lobot think of that?

Would he think anything at all?

*

Stepping into the heart of Cloud City, the computer room from which everything else operates, is like coming home—which is strange, Lando knows, because this isn’t his domain. He’d spent most of his time in the administrative center, many levels up. But Lobot is here. Lando _feels_ it. Knows it’s true like he knows the color of Bespin’s skies. All it takes is—

“Lobot,” he says, rounding a tall row of consoles to see the man in question crouched over an open panel, wires and bits of metal spilled across the floor.

Lobot’s shoulders jerk, a twitch that startles Lando because nothing catches Lobot off-guard, least of all a person’s approach. And then he’s on his feet and there’s a smile—a Sith-damned _smile_ on his face, so foreign it doesn’t compute at first. Ironic, all things considered, but Lando won’t know to laugh about it until later because the next thing he knows, he’s being engulfed in a hug and that’s a far more puzzling phenomenon to deal with.

A _hug_. Lobot. Giving Lando a _hug_.

“Lando,” he answers, voice hitching on the first syllable, hushed against Lando’s ear. The implant is cold against Lando’s cheek, but all he can focus on his the warmth of Lobot’s breath brushing against his neck. The whirring and clicking of the implant fills the silence that falls, Lando unable to come up with a response, too—too emotional to answer. “You’re back,” Lobot finally adds, maybe understanding that Lando has no words. Lobot always did know Lando, sometimes better than Lando knows himself.

 _I could say the same for you_. Lando clears his throat. Has no idea where even to start. _Why didn’t you tell me? When did it happen?_ How _did it happen?_

Lobot grabs Lando by the shoulders, pushes him to arms’ length. His eyes graze over Lando’s face, down his body, intent enough that Lando warms all over. Those are not the eyes Lando left behind when he went after Han. This isn’t the Lobot he remembers. This isn’t even the Lobot he’s been in contact with since Anoat went dark.

This is the Lobot he’d thought he’d lost forever. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You look good,” Lobot says, kind, slow with meaning. Even his _voice_ is what it used to be, boggling as far as Lando’s concerned. He plucks a stray fiber from Lando’s shirt, his fingers moving slowly over Lando’s collar. The words drag between them, heavy with possibilities and second chances. Lando knows the drill; he knows what that kind of intent signifies. Most of the time anyway.

And he hadn’t ever thought that tone would be directed at him. Even if maybe he’d hoped it would. But all the same he doesn’t know what it means coming from Lobot.

“So do you,” Lando replies, because he’s never not answered a compliment with one of his own. And it’s true. Truer than Lando wants to admit. _But care to tell me why?_

He’s never liked questioning his luck, but he’ll make an exception for this.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Lobot says, sounding so easy that Lando almost believes it can be that easy. He certainly wants to believe it’s that easy. Even though it’s never, ever proved itself true before. Smiling, Lobot claps him on the shoulder, squeezes tightly, his thumb digging into Lando’s clavicle.

It’s the most welcome touch Lando’s felt in a long time. A shudder runs through him, almost imperceptible. Maybe would’ve been imperceptible if it had been with anyone besides Lobot. But the man’s eyes narrow, ticking over his frame, taking everything in. He sees it.

Perhaps he knows what it means.

Not that he would ever feel the same.

Lando swallows and shrugs, brushing at his chest and down his stomach. _Casual_ , he thinks, too determined to come anywhere near it. His face warms, a heat suffusing his cheeks in a way that’s utterly ridiculous and probably also completely obvious. No doubt those implants make analyzing changes in temperature as easy as—

More things than Lando wants to think about honestly. Those are some heavy duty pieces of Imperial equipment, Lobot’s implants are. There’s no telling what they can say about Lando’s state of mind, his reactions…

_You’re a fool, Calrissian. You’ve always been a fool._

_Lobot doesn’t have the time of day for you_.

 _Never has. Not like_ that.

“Guess we do, pal,” Lando finally says after far too long a stretch of silence. And it hurts a little to brush Lobot’s touch off, he’s gotta admit, but a very palpable weight is lifted when it’s gone, too. Literally and figuratively. Stepping back, he gives himself a little room to breathe. Feels both better and worse at the same time.

Lobot’s head tilts and he gets a funny little pinch around his mouth. Strange, considering. Lando hasn’t seen as much as a muscle twitch in Lobot’s face in years. He doesn’t let himself feel the anger that threatens to fan itself to life in his stomach, impotent and pointless. How long has Lobot been himself? How much sooner could Lando have gotten here if he’d known?

“You’re troubled,” Lobot says. The words sound awed to Lando’s ears, like maybe he’s getting used to the idea of noticing something like that himself.

“I—no.” Lando shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. How’d you do it?”

“Governor Adelhard kept a lot of interesting artifacts amongst his personal belongings, including classified information about the AJ^6 cyborg construct. When we went in to apprehend him... The extraction didn’t go well, but I found out about the files and took them and just—” Snapping his fingers, Lobot rolls his shoulders, so animated that Lando boggles. “—turned it off.” He tilts his head again. “Dialed it back anyway. It’s still _useful_ after all.”

_You should’ve just got rid of the thing entirely._

“You don’t approve,” Lobot adds, apparently still perfectly able to read Lando. Somehow that doesn’t seem fair. Which microexpression gave it away this time?

 _Calrissian, you don’t hold grudges,_ Lando reminds himself. So instead he grins and laughs, airy, and claps Lobot on the shoulder, something he hasn’t allowed himself to do since Lobot said his farewells, right before he… It just didn’t seem right after that. “I’m glad,” he says, inclining his head, looking at Lobot from beneath lowered brow. “Truly.” _I just wish you’d said something. You had every opportunity in the galaxy to do so_.

“Convincing,” Lobot says, dry. He looks down at the scattered remnants of his project, toes at the wires and the loose panel and the floor. “Listen, Lando—”

“Have you talked to Chanath?” Lando’s heart squeezes as he says her name. He hasn’t spoken with her since Lobot sacrificed himself for them either. Shame roils in his stomach at that, too. There are so many things he should have done differently. She’d said Lobot chose him that day. It had never seemed like it before now, but maybe… maybe she’d been right. He’d never had the opportunity to ask before, Lobot being in no position to answer at the time. “She’d want to know.”

“Chanath?” Lips puckering, Lobot bites at the inside of his mouth, thoughtful, an old, nervous habit. His cheeks redden and he finds something of interest somewhere in the vicinity of the hem of Lando’s cape. His hand curls around the back of his neck, nail clicking briefly against the bottom edge of the implant. “No. Not yet. Listen, I—”

“You should talk to her,” Lando insists.

“I will,” Lobot replies.

“Good.” And though he means it, a sick sensation settles in his gut all the same.

“Good.” Lobot’s shoulders hunch inward, rounded, his shirt stretching over his arms. Then, huffing, almost laughing, he looks away. “When I imagined this, I didn’t think it would go this way.”

Lando tries to summon a laugh of his own; it comes out as little more than a huff, too. “You thought about this?” He conceals the want that thrums through him, his imagination going into overdrive as he considers the implications. Lobot doesn’t mean it the way he’s saying it surely, but damn, does Lando wish he had. “What _did_ you imagine then?”

Lobot’s lips twist into a self-deprecating grin. “A lot less awkwardness.”

Lando’s laugh is real this time, perforated all the way through with relief. “I don’t know why you thought that,” he says. “This is you we’re talking about.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten,” Lobot says, going along with him. “You always were the suave one of the two of us.”

Wagging his finger at Lobot, Lando nods. “Glad to know those Imperials didn’t scramble your brain too much.” More serious, he looks Lobot over again. Just to be sure. It still seems unreal. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, Lando. I’m okay.” He gets a faraway look, wistful almost. “I remember it all, you know.” He sucks in a deep breath, exhales loudly through his nose. “I remember everything. Every last bit of it.”

 _The Imperials dealt you a shit hand._ “Doesn’t surprise me.” _I’m so sorry._

He tries not to let himself think too hard about how culpable he is in this. He’s _never_ let himself think too hard about it. Not until today anyway. He’d always looked forward before—to the days when he’d have time to fix this, to the days when the Empire left them all alone for long enough to do anything other than scrape by. But for all that he’d looked forward, he’d never really thought about the day he was looking forward to.

A mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

And then Lobot strikes the killing blow. “I remember what Chanath said.” And of course this is the moment Lobot finds the ability to look at Lando. At the very moment he’d rather he didn’t. “About me choosing you.”

He inhales sharply, blood stabbing through him in time with his heart.

“She wasn’t wrong, Lando.”

“Lo—” And the nickname falls easily from his lips, like none of this ever happened, like Lobot’s always been Lobot. It stops him in his tracks, blanks his mind so thoroughly that he forgets what he’s saying.

“Odds are I _am_ wrong on the other hand. I did do the calculations myself after all,” he says, the same decisive edge in his tone as when he’d—done what he did. His eyes close as he tilts his head down slightly. “But I’m going to take that chance.”

And before Lando truly comprehends it, Lobot’s hand has gripped Lando’s elbow, has pulled Lando toward him, so close the flash of the implant’s red light nearly startles him as it goes off. And his lips have pressed against Lando’s, too, finishing the job that blinking light started. Lando’s rarely at a loss—but leave it to Lobot to get him there.

If Lando were a more dramatic man, he’d compare the enthusiasm with which Lobot kisses him with a gravity well. The studied grace behind it suggests Lobot knows exactly what he’s doing and knows exactly what Lando wants and has maybe imagined it before. The analytical corner of Lando’s mind—never shut off entirely, maybe Lobot has some experience with that—wonders how and when and why, all questions with no answers.

Questions Lando hadn’t even thought to ask, not even back then, although maybe he should have.

Lobot’s hand tightens on Lando’s arm, his teeth bite lightly at Lando’s lip, and all Lando can do is hang along for the ride, controls he is perfectly happy to relinquish.

He hasn’t been kissed quite this thoroughly in… far longer than he cares to admit.

“You sure as hell still know your way around the odds,” Lando says, breathless, once they part. His fingers pluck at his chin, thoughtful, and he peers at Lobot with new admiration, wonder almost. But once he’s said this, he doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t know how else to ask _the_ question.

“That a good thing?”

Lando smiles—one of his good ones, the best one he knows—and he laughs anew. “Better than. I didn’t know…”

“I didn’t either,” Lobot admits. He draws in a deep, ponderous breath. “Not until it was too late. I had to save you both, you and Chanath. That was—that was never in question. I love Chanath, but I could let her walk away. I never could say the same for you.”

Lando’s eyes widen and he coughs to clear his throat, purely a physiological reaction, of course. Nothing at all to do with the prickling in his eyes, relief heavy in his chest. It’s as much an admission as Lando needs to know Lobot’s serious. And—feels what Lando feels, has always, it seems, felt for Lobot in return. Even through all the failures and separations and…

“I’m sorry. For—springing that on you. And for—”

“No. The only thing you can be sorry for is not telling me sooner. I would’ve come back.” _We could’ve…_

“You were doing important work for the Republic. I couldn’t drag you back here for that—not because I… we could handle the cleanup.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. Aren’t you tired of regrets?”

Lando’s mouth opens to respond, but no sound comes out. Whatever else he’s feeling right now, Lobot is right.

There has been enough regret for one day—for a whole lifetime probably.

So with that in mind, he sweeps aside the whys and hows—for Lobot and for himself. “In that case,” he says, “I think it’s time to celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?” Lobot asks, balance shifted as Lando pulls him close and throws an arm around his shoulder.

Knocking against Lobot’s side, already planning on how to best take advantage of this new facet of their relationship. “Regrets. Let’s celebrate regrets.”

And, like always, Lobot goes along with it.


End file.
